Just a Taste
by MinionRipley
Summary: A certain former templar discovers he really likes going down on a certain former Circle mage. Written for a kink meme request.
1. Chapter 1

Kinks/Warnings: F!Surana/Alistair pairing, oral.

(Posted on the DA kink meme on 2/4/2013. Posted again here with some minor edits.)

Just a Taste

_Chapter One_

It had been something of an accidental discovery. Neria hadn't ever guessed, and, Maker's breath, Alistair had had no idea, being a complete virgin beforehand and all.

But it was a very, _very_ good discovery.

After their first awkward attempt together – made even worse by the fact that she was small and he was big (in more ways than one) – she had suggested some additional foreplay to help ease the way. He had been a little reticent at first, being the sheltered Chantry boy he was. But, as she soon gladly found, it was not a reluctance borne from disgust but from a lack of knowledge, and that she definitely knew she could help.

"It's not all that difficult, Alistair," she had whispered, once they'd turned in to their tent for the night and were alone. "It's like any skill. You'll think you're all hands – so to speak – at first, but once you get the basics down and you feel more comfortable, it'll just come to you."

Never mind she'd never been with a man who'd tried more than once or twice to get any good at it, but if she could relax the nervous former-templar any, she figured a little white lie couldn't hurt.

Still, he bit his lower lip. "Are you sure it'll be all right? I… I won't injure you or anything, will I?" he said. "I mean, after last time, I just… And, well, you were…"

She carded her fingers through his hair and brought him down for a gentle kiss. He moaned into it and curled closer to her, reaching over to tangle his fingers in her own hair and deepen the contact. Then he groaned when she nipped at his lower lip. He pressed his mouth harder against hers, sucking on her own bottom lip in retaliation, until the need for air finally forced them to part.

"Damn," she gasped. "You've gotten good at that."

He smirked at her. "Only because I've got the best tutor."

She laughed. "Flatterer."

"It's true, though," he said, leaning down to nibble along the edge of an ear.

She moaned and curled her fingers into his hair more tightly. In response, he tenderly bit and then sucked on her lobe, and she nearly shook from the feeling. Her ears were one of her most sensitive places, and he seemed to take a special delight in teasing them every chance he got since discovering that fact.

She was starting to wonder if they could simply do this all night, when he pulled away with a nervous smile.

"So," Alistair said, "step one?"

Neria took in a deep breath before releasing it. "Right. First, let's lie down."

She leaned back, gently guiding him to follow after her, until she rested on her back on their shared bedrolls with him supporting himself on his elbows above her.

"And step two?" he prompted.

"Exactly like you did our first time," she replied, pulling off her shift. Then she took one of his hands and pressed it to her chest. "Just take your time and pay attention to how I respond."

And he did, leaning down to kiss and nibble the skin of her neck, collarbone, and eventually the valley between her breasts. At the same time, he also softly squeezed the breast in his hand, pausing every so often to run his thumb across the tip and roll her nipple between his fingers. Then he trailed his lips over to her other breast to kiss and suck on the taut peak there.

All the while, Neria moaned and sighed in pleasure. She could feel herself growing hotter and wetter below, and she pressed her thighs together to sweeten the sensation.

She wondered momentarily if Alistair would eventually grow impatient and try to move on in spite of her instruction, but, no, he happily kept on his current task, always the gentleman. After some time, he turned his mouth's focus to her other breast, switching hands to caress the one he left behind. He never once stopped touching and stroking her in some way, until…

"Enough," she moaned. "I think we can move on to step three now."

Again he looked up at her with uncertain eyes. "Are you sure? It's fine if you-"

"I am _quite_ ready, Alistair." A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Don't make me turn you into a toad, you infuriatingly wonderful man."

He laughed. "All right, all right, got it!"

Still, his cheeks tinged pink when she reached down to tug off her smalls. But he moved further down, pressing kisses against her skin as he did, without further question. By the time he was level with her nether lips, his face was scarlet.

He hesitated. "I… Um, where do I…"

She answered his unfinished question by reaching down with a hand to spread herself apart. "Try sucking on the folds at first."

He nodded and, leaning in closer, ran his tongue along one before carefully taking it between his lips. She gave a soft sigh, and, encouraged by the sound, he began to gently suck as told. Her legs quivered in response, and she fisted her other hand in the pillow under her head.

After several more strokes of his tongue, Alistair pulled away. "You taste… good," he said, a note of wonder in his voice. "Very good."

"Please don't stop," Neria whispered.

Without further comment, he returned to lavishing attention on her labia. She moaned and tried to keep from squirming from the sensation. After a while, he reached up to part her nether lips with his own hands, and she pulled her own away to gently run her fingers through his hair.

"A-All right," she said. "You see the little nub? If you- Oh!"

She didn't get to finish, as he instantly took to running the flat of his tongue along and up the space between her folds until it caught on her clitoris. There, he wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves and started to caress it much as he had her folds, stroking and sucking on it without pause.

Her hips twitched and her back arched at the attention, and she would have bucked as well if not for his hands keeping her still. She gasped and cried out as the pleasure came in increasingly intense waves that matched the motions of his mouth.

_Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck_, she chanted internally. She knew she wouldn't last long at this rate.

"P-Put a finger i-inside, please," she said.

He did, and she gave a keening cry as the thick digit slid into her depths. Without prompting, he began moving it in and out. She groaned, and her legs, made restless from the assault, alternated between running along his back and fidgeting against the floor.

Finally, she ordered, "Another f-finger."

A second digit joined the first on the next thrust inside, stretching her wide. But she knew it was only a fraction of what awaited her; she would need at least one more before she could comfortably take him. Still, the sensation of his attentive mouth and two fingers was exquisite. She panted, feeling on edge, and spread her legs wide in an effort to stave it off.

"O-One m-more," she moaned, once she felt she had loosened around his fingers.

Alistair did as bid, and Neria's breath caught in her throat at the sheer fullness. Maker, she felt as though she were _dripping_, she was so aroused. She pulled away the hand that had been curling and uncurling in his hair to let it join with the other at her pillow, afraid she might tear off a chunk when the moment came.

And it didn't take long at all for it to come. Despite her attempts to delay it, her climax crashed over her and swallowed her up with an intensity that had her thrashing and crying out. Her inner walls fluttered and clenched around his still-moving fingers, and her back arched so sharply she was surprised it didn't pop. When she instinctively tried to shift away from the now-oversensitive caress of his mouth, he tightened his grip on her hips and continued licking and sucking and stroking until her eyes rolled back and she wondered if she might come _again_.

Then, finally, she regained the use of her shaking limbs and reached down to push him away. "Alistair," she huffed. Still he didn't budge. "Alistair!"

At that he at last looked up. She blushed when she saw the lower half of his face covered in her slickness. Forget "dripping"; she'd practically _gushed_!

"Alistair," she said, "I think I'm ready."

He blinked several times, as if coming out of a daze. "Ooh, right," he said. With a smile, he wiped his face off on a blanket before crawling his way back up her body. He curled his arms around her waist and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, and she groaned at the taste of herself on his mouth. "So, how would you like to do this?" he asked. "You on top, or…?"

She drew her legs up and ran her feet along the backs of his calves. "This is fine," she contentedly sighed. "After that performance, I won't be able to move much till tomorrow anyway."

He flushed from the praise. "You know," he said, "I wouldn't mind if you asked me to do that again. Anytime. I mean, really, I wouldn't."

She opened her mouth, about to reply, when he took hold of her hips and slid himself inside, and all that came out instead was a moan.

"Ohh, yes, this is much better," he gasped. "Much, _much_ better."

And indeed it was. In contrast to their first attempt, this time she could feel her relaxed body yielding much more readily to his size, and she felt no pain whatsoever. In fact, it was just the opposite: She felt pleasure bloom with the first thrust, tempered only slightly by the sense of stretching even further to accommodate him. But, after several more gentle thrusts, even that discomfort faded, and her arousal grew once more and started to tighten between her thighs. She moaned and wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him on.

But the foreplay apparently proved too much for Alistair, and he quickly came undone with a loud groan before collapsing next to her.

_Well, it certainly wasn't bad for a second try_, Neria thought with a small smile.

Still he blushed and quailed in mortification. "Ah, I-I'm so sorry!" he stammered. "I didn't mean to… I just couldn't…"

With a shake of her head, she carded her fingers through his hair and brought him close for a kiss. Too ashamed, he didn't return the touch at first, but when she pressed harder and sucked on his bottom lip, he finally sighed in pleasure and kissed back.

When they parted, he asked, with a glance towards her hips, "Is there anything I can… Um, you know…"

She giggled. "Oh, it's all right, Alistair. You don't have to-"

But he was already sliding back down her body, and the next moment he had her legs thrown over his shoulders and his face pressed against her nether lips. She moaned as he ran his tongue along her labia and then shrieked when he wrapped his mouth around the nub hidden within them and started to suck.

With each stroke and caress of his tongue and lips, pleasure shot through her, and she could feel the tension that had faded quickly building up again. She squirmed, trying to ease the pressure, but he firmly held her thighs in his hands, preventing any such escape. Then he slid in two fingers, and, in short time, three, and began thrusting them in and out of her slick passage.

Her orgasm broke upon her with almost no warning, and she cried out and arched against the bedroll. It rushed through her as intense as the last, rattling her nerves with the sensation. All the while, he continued licking, sucking, and thrusting with his fingers, until she finally reached down and pushed him away.

Alistair looked up at her, grinning. "So, I take it that helped?"

Neria threw her arms back as she caught her breath, her chest heaving with the effort. "Maker, Alistair, yes," she said. "Yes, it certainly did. _Wow_."

He chuckled, wiped his face off once more, and slid back up to press a kiss against her lips, and she sighed and wrapped her arms around him, feeling more content than she had in months.

How little she'd known then that it was only the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

Kinks/Warnings: F!Surana/Alistair pairing, oral.

(Posted on the DA kink meme on 2/23/2013. Posted again here with some minor edits.)

Just a Taste

_Chapter Two_

Several days later, the group of travelers found themselves trekking through a particularly thick part of a forest. The overgrown brush – left untended since the start of the civil war – choked the road, making progress slow and hard-won. By midday, they were exhausted from their efforts. Too tired to even search for a clearing, they settled on the road itself for a short break and hoped no bandits would spy them through the trees.

Though Neria soon found bandits to be the least of her worries.

She set her hands on her hips. "You've got to be kidding me."

Alistair lowered his head and offered her a smile, at once shy and playful. "Please?" he asked. "I won't take that long."

She ignored the heat of the blush she knew was creeping up her neck. "You… You seriously led me all this way off the road, just to ask for _that_?"

Knowing some of her previous lovers, she could have believed it, if he were asking for such a thing as a quick hand-job. But he wasn't asking for that. Oh, no, he had something different in mind, something that sent a flush all the way to her ears and a growing warmth between her thighs.

He looked down at his boots and toed a bit of dirt around with one. However, she didn't miss the spreading flush on his own face. "I can't help it," he murmured. "I've been thinking about it all day, and… You know…"

Yes, she did know about _it_. They'd done _it_ a few more times since the first, and last night he'd made her come three times from _it_ alone. _It_ had gotten to the point that, as embarrassed as she was to admit, the mere act of watching him _eat_ was starting to do funny things to her insides. She truthfully didn't even need _it_ that much anymore; she found herself adjusting more readily to his size each time they made love. And, honestly, she was rather embarrassed by the sounds she made when he did _it_. But, after telling him, he'd insisted on _it_ regardless, even confessed he _liked_ the sounds.

And _now_… "You want to give me cunnilingus out in the open," she stated more than asked.

"Well…" He toed the dirt around again and then flicked a glance at her. "Please?" he squeaked.

She sighed and tried to resist the urge to fidget as well. She could feel her smalls dampening at the thought of doing such a thing, but she knew well enough it was a bad idea. Their companions sat eating their midday meal not more than thirty paces away, and Maker knew Wynne or Leliana or, worse, _Sten_ might come looking for them at any moment.

Though, the threat of discovery itself was quite tempting…

_No. Bad Neria_, she admonished herself. _And stop listening to Zevran's stories; they're obviously having an influence on you._

"Alistair," she whispered, "not right now."

"Pretty please?"

She rolled her eyes. "We can do it tonight. Just wait till then."

"But I don't want to wait," he whined. He got down on his knees in front of her and, taking hold of her hips, pressed his face into her stomach. "I'm so _hungry_," he moaned, "and you know I'm a growing boy."

She laid her hands on his shoulders and gave him a light push. "You ate just a bit ago," she replied, "and the only 'growing' part of you is in your pants."

He looked up at her with a small frown and large, sad eyes. "Pleeeease?"

"Alistair…"

His lower lip trembled.

She sighed. "_Fine_. Just- Eep!"

Before she quite knew what had happened, Neria found herself backed up against the trunk of a tree with her legs thrown over Alistair's shoulders. She realized with some disconcertment that she was several feet off the ground, her feet swinging in the air, and he was now the only thing standing (or, rather, kneeling) between her and a painful landing. And that was not an injury she wanted to explain to Wynne anytime soon.

She had only but a few moments to ponder this, however, as he finished pulling off his gauntlets before pressing a kiss to her stocking-covered leg. Then he did so again, this time higher up and on her decidedly uncovered thigh. She shivered, and he continued to do so again and again, until his nose pressed into the crease between her leg and groin.

She moaned and turned her gaze skyward. She dearly hoped no one would walk in on them now; her Tevinter robes only covered so much, and certainly not a fully-grown man.

Then he pressed a kiss to her smalls, and she lost her line of thought with a gasp. He licked a line up from the curve of her rear to the top of her nether lips before wrapping his lips around her through the cloth, taking as much of her as he could into his mouth as though he were trying to devour her whole. She gave a low groan and, reaching back, curled her hands into the rough bark of the tree.

Then, to her surprise, he pinched the edge of her smallclothes between his teeth before pulling back and dragging them down her thighs. He gripped her hips as he did, shifting her support from his shoulders to his arms, until the garment caught on her knees. Then, with a wide grin, he dove back between her thighs. This time, he kissed a line up her other leg, pausing momentarily to lightly nibble on her inner thigh. She gasped and squirmed in response.

Neria still couldn't quite believe what was happening. Before, she'd thought it all a… a _myth_, or something. She'd met men who went wild over breasts, buttocks, and curvy legs, qualities she didn't have as a rather studious, reedy elf. But a man who eschewed all those in favor of… well, _this_? And Alistair, of all people? She could have believed Zevran, perhaps, but not a former chantry boy.

_Huh. I guess it just goes to show you can't judge a book by its cover_, she mused.

A sudden kiss against her nether lips caught her off-guard, making her gasp again. Alistair then pressed his thumbs to either side of her labia and spread them, opening her to his gaze. At some point amidst all this, the skirt of her robe had ridden up, and when she looked down, she caught sight of his eyes, half-lidded and dark.

He glanced up at her, smiled, and then _licked_.

Running his tongue across her folds, darting it around her entrance before dragging it up to play with her clit, then retreating to her folds again and starting anew, over and over and over again. All the while, she gasped and moaned and writhed against the tree, wanting to buck her hips against his wonderful mouth but kept still by his hands. When he paused to briefly suck on her nub, she bit her lower lip to keep from crying out from the sharp pleasure of it. Then, in spite of his promise to not take long, he moved away and resumed teasing her.

"A-Alistair, _please_," she groaned. "It w-won't be long before s-someone- Oh, _fuck_!"

He chose that moment to oblige her and thrust his tongue inside, with a smirk that she could feel even as he pressed his face into her folds. When the bridge of his nose brushed her clit, her breath hitched and she squirmed. Embarrassed, she hoped for a split moment that he hadn't noticed and yet, at the same time incredibly turned on, hoped he had.

But of course he noticed. He hadn't survived fighting darkspawn and bandits so long by being oblivious. He pressed his face deeper into her, pushing his nose against her again and again, timing it with the movement of his tongue inside her, until she was an unabashed, moaning mess of nerves.

Apparently, she hadn't been the only one listening to Zevran's stories too much.

She wished right then that they weren't in the middle of a forest, that they were instead in their tent or an inn room or _anywhere_ with some modicum of privacy so she could ride his wonderful face and mouth to oblivion. The thought of it sent a wave of heat through her that pooled at the apex of her thighs, and she moaned again when she felt the beginnings of her orgasm curling and tightening inside of her.

Then he pulled away completely.

"Alistair!" she whined. "_Please!_"

"Just a moment, love," he murmured.

He shifted her weight further onto his shoulders before removing a hand. She heard the whisper of laces being undone, and a moment later he moaned into her thigh. She could feel his shoulder shifting repeatedly under her leg, and she blushed at the realization that he was stroking himself. A realization that turned the heat in her groin into what felt like an inferno.

Oh, Maker, she _needed_ to come.

"Alistair," she moaned. She reached down with one hand to tangle her fingers in his hair. "Please, don't stop."

"You're so amazing like this," he groaned and then, without another moment's delay, buried his face into her again.

This time he focused his lips and tongue on her clitoris, and he used his remaining hand to slide one and then two fingers inside of her. She curled her toes in her shoes with a loud moan from the double assault of pleasure. She could feel herself tensing and tightening again as her climax neared. She pushed his head closer to her, uncaring of anything else right then except reaching that desired end.

Then his fingers brushed something inside of her that made her give a choked cry.

Alistair instantly ceased all movement, his eyes flicking up to her with a concerned crease in his brow.

Neria restlessly pushed her calves and feet against his back. "Please!" she gasped. "Oh, Maker, Alistair, love, _please_."

He tentatively curled his fingers against the spot inside of her, and a shudder racked her body. He did it again, and she moaned and tried to thrust her hips against his hand. Then he slid his tongue against her nub as he repeated the motion, and she nearly wept from the sensation.

She could feel her approaching orgasm intensifying, swelling like a wave that threatened to crush her when it finally came down. She worried momentarily that it might be _too_ intense, that she might somehow lose control of her magic and set the tree behind her on fire or who-knew-what-else.

But then, with one more stroke of his tongue and curl of his fingers, her climax came crashing over her. She screamed and writhed and sobbed from the feeling of it. With each flutter and clench of her inner walls, a wave of pure pleasure raced up her spine and down her legs, making her shudder helplessly. She desperately grasped his hair in her hand, unknowing if it were to keep him in place or to keep her anchored to reality. Her orgasm swept her up so thoroughly, she hardly even noticed when he shivered and groaned in his own completion.

And then, finally, mercifully, Alistair slowed and then stopped his motions. When he withdrew his fingers from her, Neria whimpered from the loss. Yet she also felt sated beyond belief. Even if he were willing to go another round, she didn't know if she'd have the ability.

When she looked down at his grinning face, however, she wouldn't have been terribly surprised if he asked.

"Wow!" he said. "I am so doing that again tonight."

She let go of his hair with a shaky sigh, and she swore the joints in her hand creaked with the effort. "I don't think I'll live," she moaned.

He frowned and opened his mouth to reply.

But the clapping of a pair of hands stopped him.

"Marvelous show!" an Antivan-tinged voice cheered. "Here I came looking for our two lost lovebird-Wardens, and what do I find? That they are not only fine, but quite a bit _more_ than fine!"

Neria and Alistair, mortified and shocked, whipped their attention to Zevran, who smiled easily back.

"Zevran, leave!" Neria hissed. "This is private!"

But the Crow simply continued smiling. "Ah, so I see," he replied. His eyes twinkled as he took in the couple's disheveled state and, even more particularly, Alistair's slickness-covered face. "And _heard_, too."

At that, the two Wardens flushed and quickly began the task of disentangling themselves.

Which did not go so well, when in their haste they forgot about the smallclothes left around Neria's knees, and Alistair ended up tearing them when he tried to move back.

Neria yelped. "Alistair!"

"Oh! Sorry."

Their blushes now scarlet, and accompanied by Zevran's laughter, the two managed to at last pull away from one other. Neria yanked her robe back down as she got to her feet, and Alistair hastily stuffed himself back inside his pants and relaced them before getting to his own.

Zevran rubbed a tear from the corner of his eye before throwing a cloth to the former templar. "Here," he said. He smirked as the man caught the fabric and then stared at it with a stunned expression. "To clean your face with. Unless, of course, you'd _like_ to show everyone what you've been up to."

Alistair hurriedly wiped his face off.

Neria crossed her arms. "Zevran, _go_. We'll find our own way back."

The elf raised his hands with a chuckle. "I was merely trying to help."

"_Zevran_."

"Tsk. No fun! I am leaving, right now." He turned to go but then suddenly stopped and looked back at the former templar. "That cloth, however, is mine. I expect it back at some point."

Alistair blushed anew and shoved it into a pocket. "I'll buy you a new one."

The elf laughed once more before finally striding away and out of sight.

Once she was sure he had gone, Neria bent down and picked up her smalls. Well, what had _once_ been them. One look, though, and she knew their only possible future was as a rag. After a very thorough washing.

"Damn it, now what am I going to wear?" she groaned. "My pack's under everyone else's on the cart; there's no way I can get to it and a new pair without everyone asking questions!"

"Sorry," Alistair squeaked again. "Maybe… you can just go a day without?"

She narrowed her eyes at him for a long moment but then sighed. "Fine," she said. "But if we get attacked by bandits and I flash someone, I'm blaming _you_."


	3. Chapter 3

Kinks/Warnings: F!Surana/Alistair pairing, oral.

(Posted on the DA kink meme on 8/2/2013. Posted again here with some minor edits.)

Just a Taste

_Chapter Three_

As it were, they did not get attacked the rest of that day by bandits, nor by assassins, darkspawn, wolves, giant spiders, or even a single dragon. For once.

Still, it felt strange with the air against her nethers, particularly so with Zevran's knowing grin and Alistair's shy glances, and she was glad to have the comfort of cloth sliding up her legs and against her groin that evening after they had set up camp and unloaded their things.

A comfort that was soon after slid back down and away by eager hands, to be replaced by an equally eager mouth.

Maker, she _would_ die at this rate.

If she did, though, at least it would be with the biggest smile on her face.

The next several weeks, however, proved frustratingly smile-less, as their trek to Haven and the Urn of Sacred Ashes took a turn to exhaustingly high climbs and then for the worse.

At first it'd just been the growing doubts within their own group she had to contend with. Quiet whispers in camp that they were wasting their time on a wild-goose chase, and then complaints to her face. _Of course it's a long shot_, she thought. _It's always been a long shot. What _hasn't_ been a long shot up till now?_

Upon arriving in Haven, things only went further downhill. Suspicious, staring villagers around every corner, and then the dragon cultists at the chantry. There came a momentary bright spot when they found Brother Genitivi alive – injured, but alive. But that, too, was quickly overshadowed by more dragon cultists, then dragonlings and drakes and then an actual high dragon named Andraste of all things. (Should she have been surprised? Because she knew she certainly hadn't.) And, as if all that weren't enough, they had to stumble through a Gauntlet and a very awkward conversation with a How-May-I-Shame-You-Today Guardian.

By the end of it, no one was happy, and everyone was tired and sore to the bone. But, damn it, they had gotten their pinch of ashes and they were leaving with it.

Between all those hours of hiking and fighting and anxious nighttime watches, though, Neria and Alistair had managed to steal only a few sparse moments for themselves. A hasty fuck behind a rock off the path or in the darkness of their tent, with just the bare minimum of foreplay to make her wet, biting their hands or their bedrolls to muffle any noises they might make. A release of frustration and tension. Or at least meant to be, as it only seemed to increase such feelings instead.

In light of all that, the inn they'd happened upon along the trek back was but the icing on the cake. It'd seemed innocuous at first, all warm light and cheery chatter they could hear even from the road. But inside they'd found an innkeeper who couldn't so much as _pretend_ to be polite, even in the face of a well-armed troop.

Sten had put a stop to that, and got them free board for the night, to boot, but the insults – "robe," "witch," "knife ear" – still rang in her mind.

As a result, she wasn't in the best of moods by the time she strode into her room that evening. A hot supper had taken some of the edge off, but she knew not nearly enough to make her civil for socializing. After shoving the door closed, she more or less flopped down onto the thin hunk of a mattress that passed for a bed. Then, with a groan, she rose to sit and began tugging at the laces to her boots. She growled in irritation when one of the knots stuck.

Then a knock suddenly came on her door, and she hissed, "What is it?"

_It'd better not be that Maker-forsaken innkeeper here to harass me_, she thought,_ or I do swear I'll-_

The latch turned and the door swung partway open, revealing a familiar, boyish face. "Is… this a bad time?"

Neria sighed. "No. No, it's not. I'm sorry, Alistair." She ducked her head, feeling a little shamefaced for how she'd spoken. "I'm just a bit frustrated, is all."

The door slid closed with a creak. A moment later a hand settled on her shoulder, and she looked up into his gently smiling face. "It's all right. I understand," he said. "It's been a long day. Or several days. Or a week or two."

She smiled back, though it was tight and grim. "I'll second that."

He slid down next to her until he was kneeling on the floor, where he took hold of her boot and, after a bit of prying, undid the knot. Then he finished untying the laces and pulled it off along with her stocking. Cradling her heel in one hand, he pressed the thumb of the other into her arch and rubbed it in firm circles. "Not too long for this, I hope?" he asked.

Neria let out a soft moan and lied back. "Mm, nope. I'm not sure there could ever be too long a day for that."

Alistair's answering chuckle sent a tingle of warmth through her body. "Good to know."

With that, he set into it, continuing the circular motion of his thumb all along the bottom of her foot. Then he focused his attention on each part of her foot – the heel, the arch, her toes – and varied his technique for each, kneading the skin and muscle with one, gently pulling on and rubbing the joints with another. Finally, he massaged the top of her foot and ankle, running his hands along them from top to bottom with more and then lessening pressure. Then, once he had done with that, he turned to her other foot, unlacing and pulling off her boot, then her stocking, before beginning again.

By the time he had finished, Neria was in a state halfway between a contented daze and cozy sleep. After all those days of seemingly endless hiking, the massage had done wonders for her aching feet, turning her bones into pudding and her muscles and skin to water. Come to think of it, did she even have feet anymore?

A sudden kiss to the inside of her knee made her jump and giggle.

Alistair laughed. "Were you asleep?"

Neria bit her lip and smiled. "Almost."

He kissed her other knee. "Well then…" He sidled closer, kissing her thigh. "It's a good thing…" A kiss to the other thigh. "That I woke you." He moved as if to kiss even higher, but he then suddenly stopped and pulled away with an uncertain look. "Unless, of course, you really do want to sleep. I mean, I completely understand that, too."

She blushed but shook her head. "Oh, no, no. Please, continue." But then a thought made her pause and push herself up on her elbows. "Unless you don't want to."

"Of course I want to," he breathed.

She furrowed her brow, unsure. His desire to do such things for her – or perhaps rather _to_ her – had puzzled her from the start. But, after the past several weeks' worth of rather lackluster sex, her puzzlement had turned to concern. Did he do such things because he truly enjoyed them, or did he only do them to please her? She loved him, and she knew he loved her, but the man could still be terribly tight-lipped about more intimate matters.

Well, there was no time like the present.

"Alistair, I… uh…"

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Yessss?"

She released a deep breath before trying again, "I mean… Well, isn't this all rather one-sided? You never ask me to do anything to you." She sat up and took his hands in hers. "I want you to enjoy yourself, too, Alistair."

His face tinged pink, and he gave a small laugh. "Oh, believe me, I'm enjoying myself. Especially when I do this."

"But what do you enjoy so much about it?" she asked, still confused. "I mean, _I_ obviously get something out of it, but you…" She trailed off, at a loss for words.

He simply smiled back. "Well…" He leaned in close again, taking his hands away and running them up her thighs, and her breath hitched in anticipation. "For one, I like that, how you sort of gasp and get this crease in your brow. It's cute."

"I do not-"

He rose up to press a kiss to her forehead. "Do, too." He traced the edge of her smallclothes with a finger, and she parted her legs further with a soft moan. "And that, too. You open up so readily to me, so trustingly. It's like you're putty in my hands."

"I don't-"

He cut her protest off with a kiss. It was slow, tender, and loving, all the things she had missed so much since the start of their trek to Haven. He kissed her like she was the center of his world, like there was nothing else beyond them, no demons, no wars, no Blights. She carded her fingers through his hair and lost herself to the gentle touch of his lips, each of them taking the time to explore one another all over again after that small eternity of several weeks.

She hadn't been kidding about the "good kisser" bit.

Neria smiled against his lips as she ran her hands down from his hair to his neck, then to his shoulders, then chest, then further down until she reached the hem of his shirt and tugged it up. With a chuckle, Alistair complied, parting from her briefly to pull the garment over his head and then off and onto the floor. Then they were kissing again, more deeply this time, their breaths coming faster as their passion grew.

At some point, she became aware of the cool air of the room against the skin of her chest. Then she realized she could feel, faintly, the tugging of his fingers against the numerous buttons lining the front of her robes. He grumbled softly against her lips as one refused to come undone, and, with a grin, she reached down to help him. Together, they undid the rest of the buttons, clasps, and laces (whoever designed mage robes could dunk their head in a freezing lake, she thought) before slipping the clothing off. Her underthings followed suit soon after.

Alistair leaned back then, his eyes half-lidded and soft as he gazed upon her. "Maker's breath, you're beautiful," he whispered. "I am a lucky, lucky man."

Neria shook her head and laughed. "I think I've heard you say that before."

"Are you tired of it?"

"Oh, no, certainly not," she replied, smiling as she ran her eyes along his form in turn. "But if anyone's lucky here, it's me for being gifted with such a wonderful, handsome man."

He gave her an arch smile. "Really? I wonder who that could be."

She gave his shoulder a light swat. "I correct myself: an _infuriating_, wonderful, handsome man." She reached down and began tugging apart the buttons of his breeches. "Now take these off."

But Alistair only chuckled and pulled her hands away. "No, not yet," he said. He laid a kiss on each palm before setting them on the edge of the bed, gathering up her legs, and throwing them over his shoulders with a wink. "Not until I've had my fill of you this way. 'Growing boy' and all that, you know."

"And I still say the only part that's growing is-_ooohhhh_." She trailed off into a moan when he ran a hand up her thigh and then, without further delay, sunk a finger into her folds.

"Maker's breath, you're wet," he groaned. "How can you already be wet?"

"Because _youuuu_…" She moaned again as he ran the digit up to toy with her clit.

He grinned up at her. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

She contemplated smacking at the other hand still at her hip in retaliation but, as he circled her nub with _just_ the right pressure, decided to lie back and simply enjoy herself instead. He stroked her several more times in such a way, slow and unhurried, before dragging the digit down to her entrance and pressing his thumb against her in its place. When his finger slid into her, they both moaned.

"You're always so tight," he murmured, his voice slightly strained. He began to gently thrust his finger in and out of her. "Even after my fingers, or my mouth, you always feel so tight. I'm always afraid I'll hurt you."

She moaned at his words and opened her legs further for his touch. "You won't hurt me. You could never hurt me."

He chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure you'd blast me into the ceiling before I ever would."

Then he added a second finger, and she sighed in bliss. She loved this, his leisurely caresses, this relaxed build-up to pleasure. This was what she had so dearly missed, had so very much _needed_. All the weariness from the past weeks ebbed away further and further with each stroke of his hand. In that moment she loved him even more, for at once putting up with her grouchiness and soothing it away.

"Tell me," she said. "Tell me what you like, Alistair. Anything."

She'd meant for him to tell her what he'd like done in return, but he took it to mean their earlier conversation, as his eyes darkened and he said, "What I like? Maker's breath, where do I begin? I love you. I love you splayed out like this, the sight of it, the way you sound. You respond so beautifully. It's like you're lost to everything I do."

He curled his fingers inside of her, and she groaned and arched her back at the sensation. When he did so again, she gasped his name.

"I love how you say my name," he said, moving his fingers faster. "Whenever I hear it from you, I can't help but want to make you say it again and again." He bent down and pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh with a low moan. "And, Maker, you feel so wonderful. Around my fingers, against my tongue, around my… my cock." He finished the last word with a fierce blush, but still he went on, "All hot and slick. You're so wet, I can't stand it."

She gasped as he added a third finger, and she twitched and canted her hips towards him. She felt like she was burning up inside, and each word he spoke only fed the fire within her. "Alistair, please…"

"I feel like I could drink you up forever," he continued hoarsely. "I'd drink up every last drop of your sweetness. You would sit on my face, and I would… I would just…"

With a moan, he drew away the hand at her hip to open his breeches and pull his straining erection out from its confines. He grasped himself with one hand as he continued delving her folds with the other, and she licked her lips as a bead of pre-cum appeared at the tip of his manhood. An idea quickly formed in her mind.

"Would you like that?" Neria asked softly. "Would you like it if I climbed on top of you and rode your tongue until I was soaked and pleading? Is that what you would like?"

Alistair moaned again, and his hips jerked, meeting against his curled hand with a slap. It was answer enough.

She pulled away from him, moving back by her elbows, and he gave a small whine as his fingers slipped out from inside of her. A part of her also inwardly protested, but she shushed it, knowing both his and her pleasure would increase greatly soon.

She patted the open space next to her on the bed. "Come up here, then."

He took several moments to awkwardly shove off his boots, trousers, and smallclothes into a heap on the floor beforehand. Then he was eagerly clambering up next to her, his eyes dark and skin flushed a delicious shade of pink.

"Lie down," she said, and he did so without question or comment.

She leaned over and pressed her lips against his in a deep kiss. He gave a low groan and reached up to wrap his arms around her, but with a small laugh, she pushed them away and moved back. Then she shuffled up on her knees to where his head laid and threw a leg over onto his other side, facing not the headboard but outward, towards his legs and feet.

"Maker, this is _perfect_," Alistair groaned from beneath her. He reached to pull her down against him, but again she pushed his hands away. He grumbled in frustration. "You did this to torment me, didn't you? Wicked woman."

Neria laughed again. "Oh, hush, I'm getting there." With that, she bent down, supporting herself on her elbows over him, until her head was level with his groin. She looked back, smirking when she saw his wide-eyed expression. "Is this better?"

She licked a line on his erection from base to tip, and he groaned, "Yesss."

Then, without another word, he set to returning the favor. He grabbed hold of her hips with his hands and more or less shoved his face between her thighs. A hot breath flooding across her slit, then all lips and tongue sliding, thrusting, circling, and suckling her folds, her entrance, her clit, and then back again.

The sudden intensity of his attention left her gasping and shaking. She could already feel the tightness of an orgasm gathering inside of her, tickling at the edge of her nerves, making her even more sensitive. Her eyes struggled to stay open.

_Focus, Neria_, she told herself.

In front of her, his erection stood tall and thick, flushed at the tip and leaking pre-cum. She wrapped a hand around it and began stroking it, adjusting her grip and pressure until she figured she had something close to what he liked by the way he arched his hips toward her touch. It'd been quite some time – not since she'd first left the Circle, in fact – when she had last done anything like this, and up till now Alistair had rarely let her touch him beyond a few teasing strokes, and certainly not in such a way that she now planned.

_Chantry probably taught him he'd be struck by lightning if anyone did_, she thought. _Well, I can fix that._

With that, she pressed the tip of him against her lips and opened her mouth to take the head in, careful not to scrape him with her teeth. He was hot and hard, his pre-cum salty against her tongue as she lapped it up. Beneath her, Alistair gave a low, startled moan as his hips twitched up. She kept her hand on him firm and steady, though, ensuring he couldn't move farther than she allowed. She lowered her head further, sucking and sliding her tongue against the shaft as she went, until she felt the tip pressing against the back of her throat and tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

_All right, I'm definitely out of practice_, Neria chided herself and backed off a little.

But Alistair hardly seemed to notice, as he continued to squirm beneath her and moan his approval against her nethers. The sound of it vibrated along her folds and clit, and she closed her eyes and curled her toes in the effort not to come already.

Instead, she redoubled her efforts on his pleasure, sliding her mouth up and down his cock. She tried to work up enough saliva to make it easier, but the sheer size of him proved difficult to overcome. She pulled away, and he slid out of her mouth with a small pop. She kept working him with her hand on his shaft, stroking him from base to tip with long, firm pulls, to distract him from the loss.

In her other hand, she focused her mana to summon a generous portion of grease. She bent a finger down into it, testing its warmth and viscosity, and nodded in satisfaction at what she felt.

With that, she switched hands, coating the length of him in grease with one hand as she drew the other down to rest on his thigh. If his growing moans and jerking hips were anything to go by, he appreciated the slickness. When she lowered her mouth back down around him, he seemed to appreciate that even more. Her movements came much easier and faster with the grease, and she was glad to find it tasteless as well. Instead there was only the taste of _him_, of maleness, sweat, and sex. She took in as much of him as she could and then lingered on the head going up, tonguing the ridges and glans, before sliding back down again. All the while she continued stroking him with her hand, matching the movement of her mouth.

Still, Neria could feel her orgasm approaching, much faster than Alistair seemed to be finding his. When he shifted one hand to slide three fingers into her again, curling them into the spot that drove her crazy, she swore she saw white at the edges of her vision.

_Oh, _fuck_, not fair, not fair_, she thought. Then, eyeing the balls tight against his groin, she added, _Well, two can play at that game._

She ran the hand on his thigh up to cup his sack and gently rolled it in her palm. As she did, she stretched a finger down to rub across his perineum. _That_ garnered a reaction, as he gave a loud, low moan and seemed to grow even slightly larger and harder in her grasp. She relentlessly repeated the motion, smirking inwardly as he began to wildly writhe and whimper. Then he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked, and she fought not to choke at the feeling.

In the end, with several weeks' worth of built-up frustration, neither of them lasted long. Not a minute later, Neria came undone with a muffled scream, and Alistair followed shortly after. They continued stroking and pleasuring one another, prolonging the sweet sensation, with shaking hands and moaning mouths. But, before long, exhaustion set in, and they lied panting on the bed, soaking in the quiet afterglow for some time.

Then, finally, Alistair broke the silence. "Maker's breath, that was amazing," he gasped. "When can we do that again?"

She gave a weak smile. "I suppose, first, we have to wait to recover."

"Oh?" he replied. He slid his fingers in and out of her entrance several times, and she moaned as she felt her nethers begin to heat up again. "I don't recall _you_ ever having to wait before."

"You're… You're insatiable," she groaned.

"Well, we do have all night," he said with a chuckle.

And, indeed, they did. And no one had to ask why Neria walked funny the next day.


	4. Chapter 4

Kinks/Warnings: F!Surana/Alistair pairing, oral, a bit of exhibitionism.

(And this is it, everyone - the last part to this fill. I'll get this posted up on the DA kink meme as well. Thanks for reading!)

Just a Taste

_Chapter Four_

Neria rubbed her eyes with a groan as she entered her room and then kicked the door closed behind her. She more or less shoved off her clothes – smallclothes and all – and kicked them into a corner, trading them for the simple, ankle-length robe left by the entrance. She threw the garment on, frowning when she had to wrap the breadth of it around herself nearly twice over before tying it closed (_stupid shem-sized clothing_, she thought). Then she sighed, her shoulders drooping, as she wearily pressed a hand to her face.

It'd been another long, unproductive evening spent quarrelling with Arl Eamon. An evening she could have spent much more pleasantly with a certain former-templar. Who had probably long since retired to bed, like any sane person would at this hour. Instead, her mind was filled with sour of thoughts.

Some part of her knew she shouldn't have been surprised, in fact should have expected it. Ever since they'd revived the arl, he'd been after them – _hounding_ them, practically – on Alistair's lineage. "Prince Alistair" this, "Prince Alistair" that. It'd started out subtly, a suggestion here and there, a few little slips of wording she chose to ignore. But after gaining the last of the allies promised by the Grey Warden treaties and with the Landsmeet looming, it grew worse, turning into outright arguments.

To Neria, the matter was clear. Alistair hadn't been raised to rule, nor did he _want_ to rule. Ferelden already had a perfectly able queen; a certain _someone_ just had to move his fat arse out of the throne for her first. Or have it forcibly removed.

She shouldn't have felt so disappointed. And sickened.

And she wasn't the only one sickened by it, she could tell. Several times she'd spotted Eamon trying to hold a secret meeting with Alistair, and not more than a minute or two later, the former-templar would storm out, fuming like a five-year-old.

To be honest, she felt rather like a five-year-old herself about the entire thing. Magic and battle was her forte, not politics.

Still, she didn't trust the arl. As much as Alistair had tried to downplay it, she hadn't forgotten the same man had put him in the kennels. In _winter_. Even with the mended amulet, she wasn't sure the arl saw him as anything beyond a bargaining chip for the throne.

_Just like every other power-hungry noble out there_, she thought bitterly.

She glanced around her bedroom. Hoping to distract herself, or hoping to find a vase to break, she wasn't sure which.

It was a pleasant enough space, she recognized distantly. It was separated into two rooms, the first a study of sorts with a bookshelf that ran the length of one wall, a large desk in the center, and several chairs around. In the latter, a large canopy bed with soft sheets and silk curtains dominated the room, with a matching armoire opposite and a nightstand with a jug of water and a washbasin tucked neatly in the corner. A tapestry and several paintings adorned the walls, and a fireplace in the study blazed with a warm, low fire. It was nicer than anything she'd had in the past months, perhaps even her whole life.

But it was empty, devoid of the one person who could have made it _truly_ nice.

Since their return, the arl had assigned Alistair and her separate rooms (_of course_), and between planning for the Landsmeet and arguing about it, she'd been too exhausted to sneak over to his. They'd only managed to steal a few words, a squeeze of hands, and a quick kiss in an alcove in the past several days. She was already irritated by the arl's schemes, and now she was growing sexually frustrated to boot.

If this didn't let up soon, she swore she'd show up to the Landsmeet with a scowl that could kill.

Though that wasn't a half-bad idea…

A sudden, quick series of knocks on her door startled her out of her thoughts.

She strode over to the door with a sigh. Undoubtedly, Arl Eamon would be standing on the other side, waiting to demand an audience with her on some matter or another that could surely wait till morning. She took hold of the handle, sucked in a breath in ready to tell the man to _just go to sleep already_, and finally flung open the door…

Only to sputter in shock at who she saw on the other side.

"A-Alistair?" she gasped. "What in the Flames are you doing up this late? I thought you had gone to bed!"

"Shh, not so loud!" he hissed.

He wore only his breeches and a linen shirt that was slightly too large for his frame. His hair was mussed, and his eyes held a tightness around the corners. She raised a brow at his lack of footwear, but he ignored it, slipping inside and gently shutting the door behind himself. He pressed an ear against the wood, listening for several long moments, before his shoulders sagged and he turned to lean back against the door with a sigh.

Neria inquiringly tilted her head up at him, worried by his strange behavior. She had no idea why he had come to her room now of all times, particularly in such apparent haste. Had some drastic news of the Landsmeet reached his ears, or had the army's scouts spotted the archdemon?

The real reason turned out to be a fair bit less dramatic.

"I was coming back from the larder," Alistair explained, "and I just saw Arl Eamon hanging around the door outside my room, probably wanting to talk. _Again_." He ran a hand through his hair with a groan. "Maker's breath, I can't take this much longer. I tell you, one more lecture on _kingly duties_, and I'll… I'll…"

Relief washed through her, even as she found herself both amused by and sympathetic to his plight. "You'll… lock yourself in the kitchen and eat all of the cheese?" she finished with an arch smile.

He gave a startled chuckle. "Hm, that's not a bad idea," he replied. Then, with a nervous glance back towards the door, he added, "Really, do you think you could – I don't know – hide me in here for the night? I swear I won't snore. Well, very loudly, at any rate."

She laughed. "Oh, Alistair, you're always welcome to come sleep with me. Why would you think otherwise?"

He fidgeted with his thumbs, uncertain. "I just thought… Well, these past few days…"

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Having separate rooms was Arl Eamon's idea, not mine. If I had my way, we would have never been apart to begin with."

He smiled, and a warmth grew in his eyes as he returned the embrace. "That's… good. Very good."

She reached up, running her hands across the back of his neck and then threading her fingers through his hair. "Now come here. I've missed you," she said and, pulling him down, kissed him on the lips.

Then another series of knocks surprised them out of their reverie.

"Warden, are you still awake?" came Arl Eamon's voice. "I apologize for disturbing you at such an hour, but there is a matter we must discuss."

Alistair bit his lip to stifle a curse, and Neria struggled for a response. Did she truly dare to deny the arl? She was depending on him for his soldiers and to at least bring her through the Landsmeet in one piece. What if she pretended to be asleep instead? She could probably fake a snore through the door. Sort of.

The latch turned and the door began to slide open, and Alistair quickly leaned back to shut it again.

Well, there was no way she could feign being asleep now. "I… er…" She looked to Alistair for some hint as to what to say, but he only shook his head at her with wide eyes. "Just… one moment!"

She spun around, her eyes darting left and then right and then left again, as she searched for some hiding place for the former-templar. Her gaze alighted upon the armoire one second, only to dismiss it the next; a little too thin, and much too full of clothes. She thought of the bed, but then scratched that off as well; the curtains were too sheer to secret someone within, and it hung too low to fit his muscular bulk.

For a moment she wished she was back in the Circle Tower, with its numerous decorative alcoves and enough nooks and crannies to hide a family of dragons. There were _reasons_ why the mages there were known for their dalliances.

Then her eyes fell upon the desk. The huge, mahogany wood desk that sat in the middle of the study, its thick weight supported by two equally thick rows of drawers along the sides and a wall across the front, leaving just the back and center where one sat down open. Open and barely large enough to fit a grown man, and perfectly spaced for her to sit down and cover up said man.

She looked to Alistair, found his gaze, and flicked her own to the desk, once, twice, three times. By the start of the third, he was on the move, slinking across the wooden floor on bare feet and slipping under the desk without a sound.

She would have laughed, had it been any other time, because before then she could hardly have imagined him and sneaking in the same sentence, what with his plate armor and clanking across all of Ferelden.

But she didn't laugh, not with who was fast becoming the second-most annoying man in all of Ferelden (first being Loghain) waiting on the other side of the door. "Warden?" the arl called, rapping his knuckles on the door again. "Is something the matter?"

She glanced towards the desk, ascertaining Alistair was indeed out of sight, before turning and throwing open the door once more. Arl Eamon stood as expected, his eyes slightly wide at her suddenness and his hand still poised to knock yet again. He was dressed the same as she had last seen him, his clothing as immaculate as always, not a stitch or button out of place. With a cough, his expression flattened into a more composed state, and he lowered his hand to pick at an imagined wrinkle on his shirt.

"I apologize for the wait, Your Grace," Neria said, forcing a smile as she pretended to tighten the tie on her robe. "I was in the midst of getting ready for bed."

He glanced away, clearing his throat again with a nod. "Ah. Then it is I who should apologize." He stepped inside, shutting the door behind himself. "I hate to intrude on you at such an hour, Warden, but our conversation earlier…"

She didn't miss the way in which his eyes purposefully scanned the room, and she held back a groan. As experienced as the man was in politics, she doubted he could win a game of cards. "Your Grace, it is very late," she said, affecting a weary note in her voice – which wasn't all that difficult, considering she was quite tired. "Could we perhaps discuss this tomorrow?"

He took another several steps inside, and she matched him, keeping herself between him and the desk at all times. "I know," he replied, "and I apologize for the hour, really I do, but you must understand how important this is. The Landsmeet draws ever nearer, and we must prepare as best we can." He looked to her, catching and holding her gaze for several seconds. "I am sure you understand the direness of the situation."

Another several steps inside, and now he was almost at the point he could look back and see into the desk. She quickly slid into the chair, surreptitiously throwing her legs over Alistair's shoulders to fit inside and then spreading out the skirt of her robe to cover up the gap.

She didn't feel embarrassed about the sight she undoubtedly presented to the former-templar; after all, it wasn't anything he hadn't already seen before. But the thought of tricking the arl did make her feel giddy, like she was a little child hiding secreted coins and toys from the Tower templars once more, and she had to force down the nervous smile tugging at her lips.

"Of course I understand, Your Grace," she said, waving at the chairs opposite of her. "Please, take a seat, and we can talk about whatever is on your mind."

A hand splayed across her naked knee, but she ignored it. Instead, she kept her hands politely resting on top of the desk as the arl took up her offer and sat down in the chair directly opposite to her.

"Warden," Arl Eamon began, his eyes darting about again for a split moment, "you must know our power and influence at the Landsmeet will be limited." She nodded, and another hand wrapped itself around her other knee. "For almost the entire past year, Loghain has done his utmost to gather his supporters and quiet any dissenters." The fingers of one hand drummed themselves along the bend of her joint, and she resisted the urge to squirm. "We must make our arguments absolutely foolproof. We cannot open ourselves to any weakness."

The hand began to draw up her thigh, tapping lightly – one, two, one, two – all the while. _Oh, he better not_, Neria groaned silently. She could suppress _some_ reactions; she didn't think an orgasm was one of them.

"I understand all of that, Your Grace," she replied. "We've already discussed this."

"Yes, I know," Arl Eamon said as he folded his hands in his lap. Meanwhile, Neria could feel a certain other pair of hands creeping up to hers. "And I still strongly believe that Alistair's bloodline as a Theirin would bolster our claim to the throne and win us the Landsmeet."

The hands froze.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I still believe that is completely unnecessary," Neria replied.

The hands started up again, sliding the rest of the way up her thighs until the thumbs pressed against the creases between her leg and groin and softly stroked the skin there. She tried to furtively scoot back into the chair and away from the touch, but they followed. She wouldn't have been surprised to lift up her robe to find Alistair smirking underneath.

"W-We already have a queen – Anora. She is experienced and b-beloved by the people," she continued, forcing back a shiver. "And once we explain to the nobles that we a-are there only to r-resolved the Blight, they may come to our side."

The arl frowned at her stutter but made no comment on it. "We cannot rest on such uncertainties, Warden. They _may_ yet decide to support Loghain, if they have not decided such already."

"I think-" A warm breath of air ghosted across her nethers, and she lost her line of thought. "I think," she began again, her mind racing, "you underestimate h-how dissatisfied they are with the regent. Give me a chance, and I can c-convince them."

"I assume you have something in mind?"

Another puff of air, and then Alistair's tongue was suddenly pressing into her slit and sweeping up, up, and- "_Yes!_" she shrieked, her eyes slipping shut.

She could feel herself growing wet as his mouth worked against her, lips teasing her labia as his tongue lapped at her clitoris, then drifting down to her entrance, dipping in briefly before sliding back up and beginning anew. Pleasure raced up her spine, making her legs shake and her hands clench into the hard wood of the desk. She almost tossed her head back with a heavy moan.

Only to snap her eyes open with a fierce blush as she remembered exactly who _else_ was in front of her.

"Warden?" the arl asked, his brow rising. "Are you well?"

"Y-Yes, of course," she gasped. Alistair ran his tongue against her again, more strongly this time, and she hurriedly amended, "No, I'm not! I'm… I'm v-very ill, you see." Another stroke, and then it was slipping down and inside of her, and she had to fight not to groan. "I-I think I caught – _ah_ – something o-on the way h-here-"

"But you've been here several days already," the arl pointed out.

"Then o-outside s-somewhere!" she cried. Maker, if only Alistair would _stop_ for five seconds so she could manage a convincing excuse. "Please, Your Grace, I-I really mm-must retire to b-bed immediately."

"Shall I send a healer?"

"N-No!" she gasped. The bridge of Alistair's nose was against her now, running across her swollen clit the same way he had the time he had her pushed up against the tree. "I-I am sure it is t-temporary. It will p-pass."

The arl's brow remained raised, but he nonetheless nodded. "Very well. We will continue our discussion tomorrow."

She nodded quickly, perhaps a little _too_ quickly, as the arl's eyes narrowed at her. "Yes, yes, t-tomorrow then," she said. Her hips twitched as Alistair thrust his tongue into her particularly firmly. "G-Good evening, Y-Your Grace."

"Good evening, Warden."

Then she watched as the arl rose from his seat and left, shutting the door behind himself as he did. Only once his steps had faded did she let her head fall back and her hands drop below to find and grasp the hair of the head at her groin.

"Y-You are a h-horrible, _wicked_ man," Neria gasped.

Alistair pulled away with a chuckle. "Well, it got him to go away, didn't it?"

She opened her mouth, about to retort that there were _other_ ways to get someone to leave, but then he was running his tongue against her again. Her toes curled as he wrapped his lips around her nub and sucked, and she shuddered and quaked when he slipped one, then two fingers inside of her and curled them so perfectly, white-hot, delicious pleasure sliding up her nerves, pooling in her hips. This time she gave in, letting out a loud moan as he stroked her, once, twice-

And then she was coming, clenching hard around his still-curling-and-uncurling fingers as she drenched his hand with a wail. It'd been long, too long, since they'd last been together, and her breath came in stuttering gasps and moans at the intensity of the sensation. She tried to push away, but he prevented her from escaping with a hand at her thigh as he relentlessly kept on, licking, sucking, pressing, circling, and-

"_Fuuuck_," she groaned as another orgasm rushed over her.

She pushed at him again, once her hands were working once more, and this time he finally let up with a laugh. "Liked that, did you?" he asked.

She leaned back with a huff, flushed and embarrassed but more sated than she had been in days. "Do you even need to ask?" she replied, a small smile on her face.

"I suppose not really," he said, "but I always like to hear it." He looked up at her with an arch grin. "One way or another."

Then he was scooting forward again, eyeing her nethers and pushing her robe apart and away from her hips with eager hands. She gasped and quickly jumped back, almost overturning the chair in her haste. "Oh, no, ser, we are taking this to the bed before it goes any further," she said, flushed and beaming.

He chuckled. "As my lady wishes."

Then, before she could rise from the chair, he slipped out from underneath the desk, stood, and swept her up into his arms. She squeaked in surprise, but before she could protest, his lips were against hers, at first light and playful but then deep and soulful. His tongue brushed against her lower lip and then slipped into her mouth, and she moaned at the taste of herself and threw her arms around his neck.

But then they were falling back and onto the bed, her first and then him with his elbows against the sheets holding him up, and she released him with a delighted giggle. Which quickly turned into a low sigh as he threw off his clothes and then rained kisses down her chin, her jaw, her neck, and finally to her chest where he wrapped his mouth around a nipple. As he alternately lapped and suckled at the bud, she threaded her fingers through his hair and smiled blissfully down at him. He smiled back as he pulled away to trail more kisses across her chest and then lavish attention on the other breast.

After some time of that, however, she could take no more. It'd been three days – three tortuous days of loneliness, doubt, and frustration – and she needed to feel him, against her, in her, everywhere.

With an impatient moan, she reached down and dragged him up by the shoulders before kissing him again. She arched up against him, throwing a leg over his thigh and pulling him down against her in a silent plea. He groaned against her lips, understanding without words her need. He reached down with one hand, supporting himself with his other arm, and guided himself into her. Then, with one firm yet gentle push, he was inside, sliding deeper and deeper into her until she almost began to wonder if he would ever end, and then suddenly his hips were flush against hers and they both moaned at the contact.

From there it was all sweet, slick movements, his hips gliding against hers in a steady, slow rhythm as their lips met and slid against one another for some long moments before retreating for a breath and then crashing against each other again. He reached up, taking one of her hands in his and clasping it tightly, and she threw her other arm around him, pulling him as close as she could and yet realizing it could never be close enough.

Before long, the intensity and intimacy of it became too much, and they broke the kiss entirely, Alistair resting his forehead against Neria's as they traded hot breaths between them.

"M-Maker, I love you so much, Neria," he groaned. "_So much_."

"I love you, too, Alistair," she gasped. "Now and forever."

His hips jerked against hers, and his eyes fluttered closed with a moan. "_Forever_," he echoed.

"Yes, yes," she cried, feeling her orgasm near. "Forever and ever and ever."

At that, he whimpered and increased his pace, driving into her so hard the bed shook and creaked with the motion. She wrapped her legs around him, at once spurring him on further and thrusting back as much as she was able. His head dropped against her shoulder, next to her ear, and he whispered in breathy moans, "I love you, I love you," over and over again.

That proved to be Neria's undoing, and she came hard around him with a sob. Alistair followed shortly after with a deep, rumbling groan. They pressed against each other for some moments longer, with gasping cries and sighing moans, until finally they stilled and Alistair withdrew and rolled to his side next to Neria. Without a word, she reached down and held his hand in hers, and he returned the gesture with a pleased smile.

They lied like that for a time, each quiet and at peace with the world in the warm afterglow, letting their slowing breaths measure out the moments.

Then, finally, Alistair said, "So, do you think Arl Eamon knew?"

She squeezed his hand with a laugh. "Oh, undoubtedly."

He chuckled. "We're going to get such a talking-to tomorrow, aren't we?"

"Bet on it."

"Well," he said, tightening his hand against hers, "as long as we're together, I don't think I'll mind."

She turned her head and smiled beatifically at him. "Together from here on out, then?"

"Forever," he promised, returning the smile in equal measure.

"Forever," she agreed.

And as far as anyone knew in the coming years, they did.


End file.
